The Finer Points
by Scabbers1
Summary: Summer after OOTP. This chapter: Bill's wedding. What socks will Dobby be wearing? Who does Gabrielle Delacour fancy? Who's the half blood prince? None of these questions answered, but read anyway. RH, HG, complete!
1. Part 1

**The Finer Points** By Scabbers 

I know it isn't exactly summer now, but hopefully this story will warm up your January. There will be five parts in all, the first one being the shortest. Expect R/H and H/G, particularly in later sections, and the twins will definitely make an appearance or two (seriously, keep reading – they're coming). And I'll love you forever if you review.

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. Although if the twins ever become too much for her to handle, I'd be happy to take one off her hands._

* * *

**Part 1:**

It was the most boring summer of Ginny's entire life. Never mind that she was at 12 Grimmauld Place, the Orders' secret headquarters. No one trusted her with anything important – or anything at all, really. And she never thought she'd say it, but life was dull now that the twins weren't around. Ron was perpetually grouchy and Hermione seemed preoccupied, so Ginny spent most of her time out back flying, reliving what all had happened to her over the last few months.

Fourth year had been different from all the others, and Ginny could hardly wrap her mind around it. Some of it had been horrible, but Ginny preferred to think of the good things – the DA meetings, playing Quidditch for Gryffindor! She had even had a boyfriend, and she reckoned she could have another if she wanted. Dean Thomas had been writing sweet letters to her all summer with drawings, and he really was a fantastic artist.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure she fancied Dean, not that she was above throwing his name around to torment Ron. But that wasn't the point, was it? The truly spectacular thing about it, about all of it, was that she was finally more than just Ron's or the twins' little sister. She was her own thing, and even Harry knew it.

She was in good touch with him this summer as well, and it secretly pleased her to know she heard from him more than Ron and Hermione did. She figured this was probably because, bored as she was, she was the most reliable about writing back.

It was a good couple of hours until dinner, but Ginny was hungry, so she wandered downstairs to fix herself a snack. Alone in the mansion's vast kitchen, she was bothered by the nagging sensation that something was a bit off, but she put it out of her mind. Instead, she nibbled on her toast and marmalade, and thought of how great it would be next year if she, Harry, and Ron were all on the house Quidditch team together. Maybe they could practice some when Harry came in a fortnight.

Two weeks. She swallowed the last of her toast and washed it down with pumpkin juice. It seemed like absolutely forever.

* * *

"I cannot believe we're back to this!" fumed Ron, emerging from under his bed with a scowl. "What do we have to _do_ to prove ourselves to them?" 

"Did you find them?" asked Hermione.

"No," Ron said furiously. "Heaven forbid Fred and George leave behind one, just _one_ Extendable Ear, so we wouldn't go crazy locked up here again with no information!"

It's probably for the best, you know," said Hermione. "Surely your mum had a good reason-,"

"Not bloody likely!" Ron said with a snort. "She thinks we're babies! Even after what happened in the Department of Mysteries…" His nostrils flared as he searched for an expression strong enough to convey the magnitude of the injustice.

"Argh!" he roared, finally, giving up. He flopped backwards on his bed, next to Hermione.

She looked down at him. "You're right. It's horribly frustrating."

"More than frustrating," Ron sighed dramatically. "This must have been what it was like for Sirius. It's like – I know I could help. I mean, I _know_ I could. But no one will let me."

"Just like Sirius," agreed Hermione, "Which is why we should probably listen to them."

She leaned back, lying beside Ron, who blushed. Their feet dangled off the edge of the bed, and their faces were turned towards each other. Ron opened his mouth as if to speak, but Hermione sat up suddenly, staring at the door without blinking.

Ron pulled himself into a sitting position next to her. "Hermione, you… uh…is everything okay?"

"Huh, what? Sorry, Ron, what were you saying?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. Hermione got weirder every day, it seemed. Maybe she had just finished a book – that seemed to get her depressed sometimes. Of course, you'd think that would motivate her to take her time reading (or not bother with books at all, which worked beautifully for Ron), but she tore through several books a week, particularly in the summer. It was completely nutters, thought Ron, but maybe a little endearing.

Hermione stretched and stood up. "I'm going to the toilet," she declared.

She left Ron's door open a crack, so he figured she was coming right back, but as it turned out, he didn't see her again until dinner.

* * *

Two owls showed up at breakfast the next morning, bearing three envelopes between them. Mrs. Weasley tipped them, and sent them on their way.

"Let's see," she murmured. "One for Ginny from that Dean Thomas – well, he certainly is devoted." Ron's nostrils flared briefly. "And one for each of you from Hogwarts. I wonder if that's not your –,"

"Our O.W.L. results!" squealed Hermione. "Oh, it's got to be!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Goody."

Hermione, trembling with excitement, accepted her letter from Mrs. Weasley with a gushing thank you. She gazed at it reverently for a moment, before ripping it open with flourish. Ron, somewhat less enthusiastically, did the same.

"Well?" demanded Mrs. Weasley.

"Good, I think," said Hermione, beaming. Each O.W.L. a witch or wizard passed was presented on its own sheet of heavy parchment. Hermione's stack was a good two centimeters thick.

"Hey," said Ron, surprised. "I got an A in potions!"

"Wonderful, Ron! How about you, Hermione?"

Hermione flushed with pleasure. "All O's so far."

Suddenly, Ron and Hermione let out a simultaneous gasp. "I got an E!" they both exclaimed.

"Yes!" hooted Ron, punching his fist in the air. I _dominated_ charms!"

"What went wrong!" moaned Hermione. "Ancient Runes! Oh, I knew I should have studied harder."

Mrs. Weasley bit back a smile. "E is wonderful, dear. You should be very proud."

"Yes," said Hermione, looking distressed, "But it isn't an-,"

"O," whispered Ron. "I got an O." He stared suspiciously at his first Outstanding as if he expected it to jump off the page.

Mrs. Weasley was all of a flutter. "Oh Ron! How fantastic. I'm so proud! What subject, dear? Oh, wait until we tell your father!"

Ron looked his mother squarely in the eye. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mum. I've gotten quite good at it – though, of course, I'm a bit out of practice now…"

"I know what you're implying, young man, and we'll have none of that. Your father and I discussed it, and you're simply too young – oh, Ron, let's not spoil the good mood!" Her tone softened. "I'm just so proud of you – you too, Hermione, of course."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"You know something - I think a celebratory feast is in order," declared Mrs. Weasley. "Hermione, dear, do invite your parents, and I'll see if I can round up those brothers of yours, Ron." Murmuring happily to herself, she left Ron and Hermione alone with their O.W.L.s.

"Well," said Ron after a moment. "How many did you get?"

"Ten," said Hermione, "All O's, except Ancient Runes."

"Erm… not bad," said Ron.

"And yourself?" Hermione asked pleasantly.

Ron eyed his stack of parchment, which seemed feeble next to Hermione's colossal pile. "Let's see – I got A's in Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Astronomy; E's in Charms and Transfiguration, and…" His ears flushed a proud shade of pink. "An O in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh, Ron, that's great!" He regarded her skeptically. "No, really, Ron. I mean it."

"Yeah, well," he said gruffly. "It's not like I got ten O's."

"Just nine," Hermione corrected, looking momentarily depressed.

"I wonder how Harry did," said Ron.

"Well, let's owl him and ask," replied Hermione, brightening at the prospect. "Oh, and I have to tell my parents!"

She skipped off to find some clean parchment. Ron flipped through his small but respectable stack of O.W.L.s once more for good measure. All in all, he thought, he'd done okay.

Hermione would probably find out eventually that he'd gotten a Poor in History of Magic. But he intended to make sure she'd never know about his Dreadful in Divination.

* * *

"Pig's back!" announced Ginny, later that evening. "And he's brought Hedwig with him." 

Pigwidgeon made a spirited entrance, flying maniacally around the foyer before crashing into Ron's chest. Hedwig landed gracefully on Ginny's shoulder and dropped two letters neatly into her hand.

"Hedwig, you smart girl," murmured Ginny, handing one of the letters to Hermione and keeping the other for herself. Ron rolled his eyes and picked up his own letter from the floor.

"Harry's given me the full report," said Hermione. "Shall I read it out loud?"

"Sure."

She cleared her throat.

"Dear Hermione,

Thanks for your letter. O.W.L.s just arrived today, in fact. I got an O in D.A.D.A. (well deserved, if I may say so myself); E's in Charms, Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration; and A's in Herbology, Astronomy, and, amazingly, Potions. No comment on History of Magic and Divination.

Anyway, congratulations on your nine O's! I can't say I'm surprised.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Harry

Hermione smiled broadly. "See – look at that. We _all_ did great. So, what does yours say, Ron?"

Ron quickly stuffed his letter into his pocket. "Er… pretty much the same thing." Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically, but said nothing. Ginny looked up from her own letter briefly and smiled.

"Well, I guess I'm off to bed," declared Ron, faking a yawn. "Goodnight," he said, and left, Pig orbiting his head with wings a-flutter.

* * *

"What's with him?" Hermione asked, as she followed Ginny upstairs. 

"Huh…dunno…" Ginny replied distractedly, still absorbed in her letter from Harry. "Ha! Hermione, you've got to read this part. It's hilarious."

"You fancy him," said Hermione, smiling.

Ginny blushed to her ears. "No! We're friends, is all. Remember, he doesn't see me that way."

"But if he did?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione!" Ginny hissed, turning a shade redder. Hermione followed her into their room, leaving the door open a crack as she always did, ever since that awful night at the Department of Mysteries.

Ginny sighed. "Maybe I do fancy him the _tiniest_ bit. You happy? It'll never work out, but now you know."

"I think it would work out nicely, actually," said Hermione. "And he's the only guy Ron would actually approve of for you."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And I care _so_ much about Ron's opinion, seeing as he's such a relationship expert."

Hermione laughed sadly. "Good point," she said.

* * *

Fin- Part One 

Author's note: Regarding the O.W.L.s – yes, I am aware that Snape won't be too keen on accepting Harry and Ron into N.E.W.T. level Potions as it is, but I didn't think it would be realistic to give them outrageously high Potions marks. I'm counting on McGonagall to pull some strings somehow at the beginning of the term, so they can both still be aurors if they choose.

I hope you like this so far. The next chapter will be up soon, I promise.

-Scabbers


	2. Part 2

**The Finer Points** By Scabbers 

_Disclaimer: Again, you'll be shocked to hear that I don't own Harry Potter._

Part 2:

Ron and Hermione lingered at the top of the stairs.

"I don't want to go down there," said Ron.

"We have to, Ron. It's our party. Your mum's been on this since we got our O.W.L. results back."

"Yeah," Ron murmured darkly. "Wish I'd failed a few more, then. Fred and George will never let me live this down."

"RON! HERMIONE! Any time you're ready!"

"That'll be Mum," muttered Ron.

"Come on," said Hermione, giving his shoulder and encouraging squeeze. "It'll be fun."

It seemed that just about the entire Order had shown up, as well as all of the Weasley children, even Percy (who was looking decidedly uncomfortable next to Mundungus Fletcher). Hermione's parents had been transported to the mansion as well, and seemed more than a bit overwhelmed. Mr. Weasley had taken the liberty of seating himself beside them, and was excitedly bombarding them with questions about "eclectricity".

"Mum! Dad!" said Hermione, running over to them.

"So this generator, you say, it- oh, hello Hermione."

"Hi, Mr. Weasley."

Ron watched her settle in happily between her parents and felt a flash of irritation. So Hermione was going to abandon him then, was she. Not that he cared…

"Why the long face, little bro?"

Ron was started to find himself standing, most inauspiciously, between Fred and George.

"Excellent party," George said, grinning. "You must have studied extra hard to earn all those O.W.L.s."

Ron's ears reddened. "Nah," he said. "I just did okay. Dunno why Mum's making such a fuss about it…"

"Modest, aren't we! What about that O in Defense Against the Dark Arts? The E's in Charms and Transfiguration?"

"Shut up, Fred."

"Hey," Fred replied. "No need to get huffy."

"Anyway," said George. "I reckon the reason Mum's making such a fuss is to shove it in our faces. Make us feel guilty for choosing… a different path."

"And a rather successful path it is!" Fred interjected.

"Right." George grinned. "Anyway, point is, we don't blame you, mate. We know you'd never excel on purpose."

"And we saw you got a D in Divination." Fred punched his arm heartily. "We're so proud."

"Er… thanks," said Ron.

"Don't mention it," the twins said simultaneously.

"Anyway," continued George, "We brought you something." Suddenly, each twin grabbed one of Ron's arms and yanked him into a private corridor.

"Why am I scared?" asked Ron.

"Relax," said Fred. "It's just our way of congratulating you-,"

"While simultaneously initiating you into the wonderful world of bacchanalic debauchery," finished George, handing Ron a brown paper bag. "Now, don't drink this all at once."

Ron peered past the twins to make sure no one was looking, and then slowly slid a long glass bottle out of the bag. "What is this stuff?" he asked.

"Essence of Applethorn," said Fred. "Think Butterbeer, only ten times stronger."

"Wicked," breathed Ron, scanning the bottle's label with approval.

"You're a man now, Ron Weasley," declared Fred, patting him on the back. "Do enjoy."

Ron quietly slipped away to stash the bottle under his bed, and returned just in time to see his brother Bill kiss Fleur Delacour on the cheek and stand to make a speech.

"Excuse me, everyone. Lend me your ears for a moment."

Two sets of Extendable Ears came flying at him from across the table.

"Thank you… Fred, George. Anyway, I'm so glad we're all gathered here today to celebrate the impressive academic achievements of my brother Ron and his girlfriend Hermione Granger."

"FRIEND!" Ron screeched, his face apple red. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Friend, then," corrected Bill, looking genuinely surprised. "Anyway, congratulations Ron and Hermione." Everyone clapped politely.

Bill waited for the applause to die down before continuing. "Now, Ron and Hermione, you'll have to forgive me for stealing your thunder. But since I don't know when we'll all be together like this again, Fleur and I have an announcement of our own."

Molly Weasley inhaled sharply and clasped her hands together, hoping, hoping…

"We're getting married!"

"Oh, Bill!" Molly exclaimed. She burst into joyful tears.

The room exploded into applause, and many of the women, plus Mundungus, were crying. Ginny jumped up and hugged Fleur, whispering, "Finally, a sister." Arthur Weasley looked from his son to his future daughter-in-law, beaming.

"This calls for a toast!" said Molly, smiling wetly. "To Bill and Fleur. May their love blossom and flourish. May they enjoy a lifetime of health and happiness together."

"To Bill and Fleur!"

"Hmph," said Ron under his breath, looking disgruntled. "Wasn't the toast supposed to be for me and Hermione?"

"So propose to her if you're that bothered," whispered Fred with a wink. Ron blushed and ignored him.

"Thank you," said Bill, holding Fleur's hand and grinning.

"Eetz so nice to be seeing you all on theez occasion," said Fleur. "I am looking forward to be seeing you again in three weekz for zee wedding."

Three weeks. Molly Weasley's face went white.

* * *

"We'll have to hold it here," sighed Mrs. Weasley over breakfast the next morning. "There simply isn't enough room at the Burrow. More juice, Ron?"

"Yes, please, thanks."

She refilled his glass, staring past him distractedly. "The ballroom upstairs will do… of course, it's an utter disaster now…"

"Got it covered, Mum," said Ginny. "We'll do it, no problem." Ron shot her a murderous look; Hermione bit back a smile.

"Would you, dear? Oh, that'd be such a help. There's still so much to be done with the Order – and I'm overjoyed about the wedding, of course, but it's all that much more to worry about."

"Couldn't I help out the Order, Mum?" ventured Ron hopefully. "I'd say my Outstanding Defense Against the Dark Arts skill would be wasted on cleaning –,"

"No, Ron," Molly sighed. "I'm sorry, but you know where your father and I stand on this one."

"But you're wrong!" Ron snapped, jumping out of his seat. "Oh, this is ridiculous. I'm NOT an infant, Mum." Bright red by now, he released a harsh breath through his nostrils and fled the kitchen.

Ginny caught up with him on the stairs. "Mum's all upset now," she said. "When will you just give it a rest?"

"Oh, aren't I such an awful person, then," spat Ron. "How dare I offer to help where it actually matters. How dare I -,"

"Deal with it, Ron. We're just too young -,"

"But we've _been_ there, Ginny, right in the middle of all of it. Did they forget – did you? We've proven that we can handle this."

Ginny was quiet for a moment. Then, suddenly, she exploded. "Do you even remember that night? _Do _you!"

Ron laughed bitterly. "Yes, Ginny, I remember that –,"

"Then why on earth would you ever want to live through that again?" She closed her eyes momentarily and exhaled sharply. "God, I'm glad not to have to think about it for awhile."

"Yeah, well not thinking about it isn't an option for me, okay? Maybe you could care less about Harry, after Michael Corner and -,"

"How could you even _say_ that?" Ginny looked like she'd been struck.

"Yeah, well," Ron muttered, his face flushed angrily.

Then, suddenly, he let out a long breath, and with that, his rage seemed to melt. His hand slid down the wall as he sat down slowly on the stairs.

Ginny sat down beside him. "You know I care about Harry, right?" You have no idea, she thought.

Ron nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, Gin. It's just – I'm not like you and Mum. I'm no good at just worrying. I have to be doing something…"

"But I honestly don't think there's anything we can do right now, Ron, I don't," Ginny said. "He'll be fine for now – we all will. And he'll be here in less than a week."

They heard Hermione say something to their mum in the kitchen, push in her chair, and walk towards them.

Ginny patted her brother on the back quickly and stood up. "I'll leave you two to talk," she whispered, and continued upstairs.

Hermione appeared a moment later. "Is everything okay?" she asked hesitantly.

Ron forced a smile. "Sure," he said. "I was just a bit frustrated, was all."

"Want to talk about it?"

Ron shook his head. "Not really, sorry."

"No, it's fine," said Hermione, looking a bit hurt. "Guess I'll be in my room, then…" Stepping carefully past Ron, she climbed upstairs, sighing softly when she reached the top.

Ron rubbed his nose. Why did girls always want to talk about everything? He was all talked out.

But still…

"Hermione, wait!" he hollered, clambering up after her. Maybe he fancied a chat after all.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were sitting next to each other on the floor, their backs against Ron's bed. Ron knew he was supposed to say something about his scene at the breakfast table, but now he was at a loss. Maybe he had gotten himself all worked up at the time, but strangely, he couldn't seem to focus on feeling angry when he was sitting here by Hermione.

What he could seem to focus on was the way her hair was tucked behind her ear, and the way it curled down past her shoulders. And, funny as it was, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the curve of her breasts under her soft white shirt.

Hermione caught him staring and cleared her throat, looking amused.

Ron blushed. "Right. Serious talk. Let's get on with it, then."

"We don't technically have to have a serious talk, Ron," Hermione pointed out. "We could talk more about our OWL results, or maybe get started on our reading for next term -,"

"Oy, shut up," Ron said, punching her lightly on the arm. She punched him back.

Neither one spoke for a moment.

Ron sighed. "Okay," he said. "I suppose you want to know why I was such a complete arse to my mum back there."

"You were frustrated," Hermione said diplomatically. "And understandably so."

"Yeah, well," Ron scratched his chin. "I guess there's a bit more to it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, well – hey, can we shut the door?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'd actually rather not, if you don't mind…"

Ron stared at her, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, about that," he said. "What _is_ it with you and the whole door thing?"

"Door thing?" Hermione asked weakly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Hermione. You get your knickers in a wad every time someone closes a door, and I'd like to know what's up."

"Oh, it's so dumb," Hermione moaned, shaking her head.

"No, tell me," said Ron. "I promise I won't think it's dumb."

"Don't worry. I won't hold you to that." Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Ron. It's just an anxiety thing, I guess. Whenever I notice that the door is closed, it's like I can't focus on anything else – all I can think of is how anything could be behind it, and I wouldn't even have a clue."

"And this has been going on for how long?" asked Ron.

"Since that night at the Department of Mysteries. I guess it has to do with all those -,"

"Ooh yeah," said Ron. "There were quite a lot of… erm… doors there."

"See!" said Hermione. "How's that for Gryffindor courage? Scared of doors."

Ron started to laugh, but quickly covered it up with a cough. "Ah well… that's not so bad, Hermione. It actually makes a lot of sense."

"Yeah?" said Hermione.

"Well, sort of…" said Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Anyway, what was it you were going to say before, Ron?"

"Er…don't remember."

"Well," said Hermione, "Why did you get so mad at your mum back there?"

"I wasn't mad," Ron protested. "I just think that…oh, I don't know. You'll think it's ridiculous."

"Ron. I just admitted to being afraid of doors. What could be more ridiculous than that?"

"Fair enough," said Ron. Hermione swatted at him. "No, seriously, the door thing isn't ridiculous. It was a really scary night, and you were there for the whole thing."

"So were you."

"Not really," said Ron with a sigh. "I mean, yes, I was technically there, but I wasn't exactly at my best, now was I?"

"That was hardly your fault, Ron! You were hexed by a –,"

"Yeah, well, my fault or not, I certainly wasn't very helpful that night." His eyes flickered upward to meet hers.

"Oh, Ron," she said. "You can't let yourself feel guilty about that. There was nothing you could have done! Even the strongest wizard couldn't have -,"

"I know," said Ron. "But there I was, all the same. A burden, rather than a help." He closed his eyes momentarily and leaned back further against his bed. "I'm sure I'd feel so much better about it if I could do something to make up for it, help out somehow…"

"But no one will let you," murmured Hermione sympathetically.

"Nope," Ron said, looking defeated. "Bloody frustrating, it is."

Hermione took his hand ever so gently and gave it a squeeze. She glanced at him nervously, as if expecting him to jerk his hand away, but he didn't.

He squeezed it back. Hermione felt a rush of warmth coarse through her body – and though it wasn't quite appropriate, she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Fin- Part 2.

Author's note: I hope Hermione's anxiety thing didn't seem too farfetched. I think she seems the type to develop obsessive compulsive symptoms, don't you? Anyway, stay tuned for Harry's arrival and the festivities that ensue. More twins in later chapters, I promise!


	3. Part 3

**The Finer Points** By Scabbers 

In response to Ronhemie's review, yes, I know three weeks is sort of… unusual. Basically, I needed the wedding to be then so I could include it in the story (part 5) . Blame it on the war, I guess. Thanks to you and the rest of my small but awesome audience for reviewing!

You have no idea how much fun this chapter was to write. I hope you like it, too.

Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Well, maybe they're mine when they're drunk.

* * *

Part 3:

The night before Harry was due to arrive, Ginny found that she simply couldn't will her body to sleep. It was the strangest thing – 2:00 a.m., and she simply wasn't tired at all.

At 2:30, she crept downstairs for a glass of warm milk, which only made her have to use the toilet. At 3:00, she moved her pillow to the foot of her bed and tried lying in the other direction.

By 4:00, she was getting desperate. Even reading Hermione's dog-eared copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ by wandlight wasn't boring her to sleep. She wished fervently that she could do a sleep charm on herself and be done with it, but she wasn't of age, of course. Bugger.

By 4:30, Ginny was feeling inexplicably anxious. Hermione was sleeping soundly in her bed across the room, her chest slowly rising and falling underneath the blankets. Ginny couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Hermione look so relaxed.

Why couldn't Ginny make herself relax, too?

It was as if every bad thought she'd been keeping at arm's length now rushed towards her with stultifying speed. What if Harry never made it here tomorrow – what if he was intercepted somehow? What if something happened to Ginny's dad as well, who would surely be with him? She didn't think she could bear it. She could hardly bear thinking about it, but it was 5:00 in the morning, and she was keen out of distractions.

Her mind kept returning to that awful night at the Department of Mysteries. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled the sinking dread that none of them would survive the night. She remembered the terror of watching her brother struggle against the suffocating tentacles of some sort of brain, her ankle throbbing, a red light moving towards her…

Oh, how had she fooled herself into believing she was safe? All summer, she had flitted about, messing around on her broomstick and writing letters to Dean and Harry, as if there was no danger. Now, it was as if someone had stripped her of that sense of invulnerability. All of the sudden, everything felt so precarious…

By 6:00, Ginny was finally asleep, her pillow damp with tears.

* * *

"Wake up, Ginny, it's 9:30. Harry's going to be here in half an hour!"

Ginny could barely open her eyes. "Wha…?"

"You've got to get up now, Ginny," Hermione said firmly. Strange, she mused – Ginny wasn't usually so tired in the mornings.

"Five more minutes," Ginny mumbled with a yawn.

"That's fine," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. This was like trying to wake up Ron.

Ginny, for her part, was finding the challenge of sitting up in bed to be positively overwhelming. She hadn't felt so physically and emotionally drained since the morning after her dad had been attacked by that snake.

Oh, but she didn't want to think about that! Why couldn't her mind focus on silly, pleasant things anymore, like Quidditch or boys? She had been so excited about Harry coming, but now it felt as if she'd never be excited about anything again.

"Okay, Ginny," Hermione said firmly, yanking away Ginny's duvet. "Five minutes are up."

"I know… I'm awake." Ginny yawned and stretched.

Pull yourself together, she told herself. Harry will be here in a matter of minutes, and you need to look _fantastic_. But when her mirror gasped with horror at the size of her undereye circles, she realized that "fantastic" might be somewhat ambitious, given the circumstances.

"I think I'll go see if Ron's awake," declared Hermione, looking fresh and dewy in a denim skirt. Ginny halfheartedly pulled on some old Muggle-style blue jeans and her sweater with a hole in the sleeve. She washed her face quickly and ran a brush through her thick red hair.

"Look lively," she told her reflection sternly.

* * *

As it turned out, Harry and Mr. Weasley were half an hour late, which left plenty of time for Ginny to torture herself with every horrific scenario imaginable. By the time they emerged from the fireplace, Ginny's fingernails were bitten to the quick.

Harry looked a bit pale and thin (as he often did upon returning from time with the Dursleys) but Ginny, sleepy bundle of nerves that she was, registered that he still looked fit. He smiled shyly at all of them and said, simply, "Hello."

Mrs. Weasley was the first to descend upon him with one of her famous bone-crushing hugs. "Oh Harry, dear, it's so good to have you back. Look at you – you must be starving! What would you like, dear? I'll fix you anything – ,"

"Mum, let him be for a minute!" said Ron. He grinned at Harry. "Good to see you, mate." He gave Harry a pat on the back, as Hermione swooped in for a hug.

Harry laughed. "God, it's good to see you guys again." His eyes locked with Ginny's. "Hello," he said, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards.

Ginny couldn't help but smile back. "Hi," she said.

* * *

Harry felt as if his mind was traveling at full speed in a hundred different directions. On one hand, knowing that he'd be spending the rest of the summer with the Weasleys and Hermione, as opposed to the Dursleys, was such a relief he almost felt like singing. And not only that, but tomorrow he'd be celebrating his sixteenth birthday – the first birthday of his life during which he wouldn't even have to lay eyes on his aunt, uncle, or cousin.

But then, on the other hand, he had a feeling it wasn't exactly going to be easy staying at 12 Grimmauld Place, where everything reminded him of Sirius. It wasn't as if there was any choice, he reminded himself. Sirius had willed the place to remain the Order's secret headquarters, so Mr. And Mrs. Weasley could hardly dally away at the Burrow all summer. Anyway, the property had been promised to Harry after the war (a bit optimistic, he thought, but he appreciated it nonetheless). He supposed he'd best get used to living here.

And then there was Ginny, whom he was more excited about seeing than he cared to admit. They had been exchanging owls fairly regularly all summer, but Harry didn't know what to make of it. Ron had mentioned several weeks ago in a letter that Ginny had been writing to Dean Thomas all summer as well. He watched her surreptitiously throughout brunch, trying to gauge her level of excitement over his arrival. As Ginny's main contribution to the conversation was a yawn big enough to engulf the entire kitchen, Harry glumly assessed the situation to be somewhat less than promising.

* * *

The day was filled with so much activity that, though Harry was reminded of Sirius at every turn, he was able to push all gloomy thoughts from his mind. There was plenty of gossip to exchange. Ginny had heard from Dean Thomas that Neville and Luna Lovegood were "spending a bit of time together", which actually made sense to Harry, strangely.

By 2:00, they were absorbed in the closest thing to Quidditch they could manage with just the four of them. They played boys against girls, and Harry and Ron were dominating; Ginny was not at her best today, and Hermione was just hopeless in general. Naturally, Ron was as smug as Ernie Macmillan walking out of an O.W.L. practical.

"Bit out of practice there, Hermione?"

Hermione glowered at him, her cheeks still red from the exertion. "Looks that way, huh, Ron," she snapped. "Looks like I've wasted all my time on silly things like _studying for the O.W.L.s_, when I could have been doing something truly important like your precious Quidditch!"

Ron blinked. "Well, yeah," he said, amazed that she was finally seeing things his way.

* * *

All in all, it had been quite a good day, Harry reflected, as he relaxed in his and Ron's room later that evening, listening to a band called Malleus Maleficarum. Ron and Ginny were engrossed in a game of chess on Ron's bed, while Hermione was curled at the foot of Harry's bed with Crookshanks, reading a book. To Harry, it felt almost as if they were back in the Gryffindor common room, in front of a warm fire. He could hardly remember the last time he felt so peaceful.

He stole a glance at Ginny, who was concentrating hard on her game. Her red hair had been pulled off her face into a ponytail, the end of which she was twisting nervously through her fingers.

Ron, grinning wickedly, made a move. "Checkmate," he said ever so sweetly, as one of his bishops pounced upon Ginny's king.

"Bugger," muttered Ginny. She quickly collected her pieces, taking a moment to coddle her disgruntled king.

"No rematch?" asked Ron.

"Nope," said Ginny, yawning widely. "Listen, I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."

"Shame on you. It isn't even eleven o' clock yet!" Ron exclaimed.

Ginny ignored him. "Hermione, I'm taking Crookshanks. Goodnight, guys."

"'Night," Harry said, wishing she wouldn't go.

Ron flopped backwards on his bed and punched the air triumphantly. "And young Ginevra retreats," he declared, "crushed by the realization that she is no match for the Quidditch and chess master Roooooonnnn Weasley!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from her book.

* * *

There was a small, round clock on the night table, and Harry couldn't help but watch the hands click closer to midnight – his sixteenth birthday. Strange, he thought suddenly, that no one had mentioned it all day. He wondered if they'd all forgotten, in the excitement of the war, Bill's wedding, and the like.

"If they've forgotten, they've forgotten," he told himself firmly. At least he was bound to have a better birthday than he'd ever manage with the Dursleys.

He needn't have worried, however, for at 11:59, Ron suddenly leaned over the side of his bed and began rooting around underneath it. He emerged just as the clock struck midnight.

"Well, Merlin's beard, I do believe it's your birthday, mate," he said brassily.

Hermione tossed her book aside and hugged Harry around the neck. "Oh, happy birthday, Harry! It's so nice to actually be able to spend it with -." Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Ronald Weasley, what on _earth_ have you got there?"

Ron was grinning from ear to ear. Cradled in his arms was a long, slender glass bottle that appeared to contain some sort of green liquid.

Harry's eyes widened. "Is that –,"

"It's called Essence of Applethorn," said Ron, proudly. "A gift from the twins, but I saved it for tonight. Thought we could kick the celebration off a bit early…"

"I'm sorry," interjected Hermione, looking scandalized. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the drinking age _eighteen_ in this country, Ron?"

"Ah yes," said Ron agreeably. "In the Muggle world, I believe it is. But wizards tend to be a bit more lax about these kinds of things, you know? I mean, we've been drinking butterbeer since we were kids."

"This is hardly butterbeer!" exclaimed Hermione.

"It's the same idea," Ron insisted. "Fred and George said it was like butterbeer, only… three times as strong." To be honest, he didn't exactly remember how strong they'd said it was, but he was sure it was something like that.

"Can I have a look?" asked Harry. Ron carefully handed him the bottle. Harry slowly read the label, nodding with approval. "Count me in, mate," he said, grinning.

Hermione sighed. "It's just slightly stronger than butterbeer, you say?" Ron nodded and shrugged.

She looked from Ron to Harry to the bottle, her lips twisting slightly upwards at the corners. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt anyone if we just tried a little bit… well, for God's sake, shut the door!" she said suddenly.

"Thought you'd never ask," Ron murmured, grinning to himself.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Hermione was draining her second cup, and considering going for a third. "You know, this stuff isn't half bad!" she declared, nodding emphatically. "Definitely butter than betterbeer… oops," she giggled. "I mean, better than butterbeer." She felt very warm and a bit dizzy, but in a pleasant way.

They had positioned themselves on the floor between the two beds, Ron leaning against one and Hermione and Harry leaning against the other. The boys had been passing the bottle back and forth, taking generous swigs from it in turn. Between the three of them, they'd managed to consume half its contents.

"Okay, I've got one," hooted Ron. "Fourth year, when Moody turned him into a ferret!" The trio laughed uproariously at one of their very favorite memories, which had never seemed quite so funny before. Harry took it further by pantomiming a ball being bounced, which sent tears streaming from Ron's eyes.

"It wasn't even Moody!" Hermione protested mirthfully. "It was…" Suddenly, her smile disappeared. "Well, I guess it turned out to be Barty Crouch."

The boys stopped laughing and regarded her solemnly. No one spoke for almost a minute, but Ron's mouth was twitching. Then his shoulders started shaking. A giggle escaped his lips, and soon all three were doubled over, laughing heartily. They had never realized it before, but Barty Crouch pretending to be Mad Eye Moody was, in many ways, _hilarious._

"Admittedly, that was a good one," said Hermione, when she caught her breath. "But I have to say my favorite Draco Malfoy moment was third year when I -,"

"When you smacked the living daylights out of him!" exclaimed Ron, clapping his hands with glee. "Oh, Hermione, that was so bloody brilliant when you did that. Merlin's beard, I'd never been so turned on in my life."

"Really?" asked Hermione, blushing deeply.

"Oh, definitely," assured Ron. "It was a defining moment for me. You basically ushered in my puberty." Harry nearly spat out a mouthful of Applethorn all over the carpet.

"I…erm…will you excuse me for a moment?" Hermione asked, with a strange sort of half-smile that neither Ron nor Harry had ever seen before. She stood up and walked purposefully, if a bit unsteadily, out of the room, shutting the door neatly behind her.

Ron looked at Harry and shook his head. "Quite a woman, that Hermione Granger," he murmured with a sigh.

* * *

Hermione wandered into one of the mansion's many powder rooms, shutting the door behind her without a second thought. The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly one way, then the other, and she felt so delightfully giddy, she couldn't stop smiling.

"And what are you so cheery about?" the mirror asked bitterly. Hermione, though a bit taken aback (she had never truly gotten used to talking mirrors), grinned widely in response.

"I ushered in Ron's puberty!" she murmured, immensely pleased with herself. She studied her reflection in the mirror, trying to envision herself as womanly and desirable, but it was the same brown-eyed, bushy-haired Hermione that smiled back (though perhaps a bit redder in the cheeks than usual).

The mirror snorted rudely. "I don't see it either, dear. You'd best hurry along, and do put out the light."

* * *

By the time she returned, Harry was yawning vigorously and eyeing his bed with longing.

"You can't nod off now," whined Ron. "It's your birthday!"

Harry stood up and stretched. "That it is, mate, but the lovely thing is – it'll still be my birthday tomorrow when I wake up."

"Too right, Harry," Hermione said, patting his shoulder encouragingly. "You get some sleep if you need it."

"But _I'm_ not tired!" said Ron, pouting magnificently. Hermione found this to be both tremendously annoying and utterly adorable.

"Listen, I'm not tired either," she said. "I'm sure Harry won't mind if we chat a bit longer, as long as we keep it down."

"Don't mind at all," Harry said graciously. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" He removed his glasses, placed them gently next to the clock on the night table, and wriggled beneath the duvet.

"Goodnight, Harry," Hermione whispered, smiling fondly at his restful form. "Happy birthday…" She flipped out the light.

"Now I can't see you, 'Mione," complained Ron. "I can't see anything!"

"Shh," she whispered, grabbing his hand. "We should sit on the other side of your bed, where we're least likely to be a bother." With her free hand on the edge of Ron's bed, she traced her way around its perimeter until they were on the other side.

"Let's try not to wake him," whispered Hermione, settling in cross-legged on the floor.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "Not my fault he's such a party pooper on his own birthday." He sat down quickly, aiming for the spot on the carpet right next to Hermione, but he miscalculated somehow and ended up halfway on her lap. "Oops," he said, giggling.

"I'll thank you to move your bony bum about ten centimeters to the right," Hermione said primly. "And no laughing! Let the poor boy sleep."

"No laughing?" gasped Ron. "But you can't help laughing sometimes, Hermione. Say, what if I were to do this?" He poked her gently beneath her ribcage. "Or _this_?" He moved in suddenly with both hands, tickling her stomach.

A high-pitched giggle escaped Hermione's lips as she doubled over to protect herself.

"No laughing, Hermione," Ron said sternly, now catching her beneath the chin. "We certainly wouldn't want to wake up Harry."

"Stop!" wailed Hermione, giggling uncontrollably now. "I surrender! Truce!"

"Knew you'd come around," Ron whispered smugly, poking her one last time for good measure.

Hermione poked him back. "You should be nicer to me, you know. If it wasn't for me, remember, you'd never have known the joys of puberty, and then where would you be?"

Ron blushed. "Well…erm…" he croaked, wondering why he'd seen fit to mention that detail earlier tonight.

Hermione grinned, feeling lightheaded and giddy all over again. "Oh, I see," she said. "You'd rather not talk about that right now. Shall we talk about Quidditch instead?"

"Since when do you want to talk about Quidditch?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Since always," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "I looooove Quidditch. I root for the Chubby Cannons."

"Oh, that is _not_ okay, Hermione," Ron whispered, horrified. With one deft maneuver, he pulled her legs out from under her and pinned her to the ground. Leaning over her, he gave her his most menacing glare. "Say what you like about me, but you are _not_ to insult my Cannons."

Hermione tried desperately not to laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, looking up at him innocently. "Did I say something out of turn?"

Ron leaned in closer. "You'll be calling the Cannons by their proper name from now on, Hermione, or I'll -,"

"Or you'll what?" whispered Hermione, her heart beating fast.

"Well…this, I reckon." And with that, Ron gently placed one hand beneath her head and kissed her softly.

"Oh!" murmured Hermione, surprised by the sudden tingly sensation below her stomach.

Ron drew back, looking slightly alarmed. "This okay?" he asked, so tenderly Hermione almost couldn't catch her breath.

Hermione smiled. "Quite okay," she whispered, burying her hands in his hair and pulling him closer. Their lips met again, less tentatively this time. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to savor the warmth running all through her body, and the soft pressure of Ron's lips on hers. He tasted like Applethorn, and his hair felt like silk…

Ron paused for a moment and caught his breath. Hermione opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he smiled back at her sweetly.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmured, tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.

Hermione sighed happily. Never let me forget this moment, she thought, as Ron leaned in to kiss her again.

* * *

Fin- Part 3

Author's note: Please don't hate me for corrupting the trio! It's just that, and maybe I've been in college too long, but it seemed like Ron and Hermione needed a push. And a little bit of alcohol (just enough to get you tipsy) has worked for me in the past.

And if you were wondering who ushered in my puberty? Devon Sawa. ::dreamy sigh::


	4. Part 4

**The Finer Points** By Scabbers 

Will this chapter be loaded with painfully awkward moments? Certainly. But awkwardness can be fun!

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed (Ronhemie, I'm mentioning you by name so you can feel special again!). It means a lot. I hope you like this chapter!

_Disclaimer: I own the characters no more than Ron owned his Divination O.W.L._

* * *

Part 4:

Harry woke up on the morning of his sixteenth birthday with a monstrous headache, and he had a feeling this one wasn't to be blamed on Voldemort. "Bloody hell," he groaned, forcing himself to sit up in bed and put on his glasses. According to the little round clock, it was already past eleven.

Sighing, he slid out of his bed and walked over to Ron's, prodding at the snoring lump under the duvet. "You'd better wake up, Ron. It's your bloody fault I've got a hangover, and I expect you to come up with some sort of… Hermione?"

Two cinnamon brown eyes peered out at him from under the covers. "Good morning, Harry," she said sleepily. "Happy birthday!"

"Thank you," he said, baffled. "Erm… if you don't mind my asking, Hermione, what are you doing in here? And where's Ron gone off to?"

"Ron's on the floor there," Hermione said, gesturing to the far side of Ron's bed. Harry stepped around it and, sure enough, there was Ron, sleeping soundly on the floor, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay," said Harry. "But that still doesn't explain what you're doing in here. And why aren't you hung over?"

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "I suppose I had less to drink than you did."

"You're evading my question," accused Harry. She looked at him guiltily.

"We were… up quite late… discussing… erm… the finer points of Quidditch."

He stared her down. Was she… blushing?

Harry's eyes widened incredulously. "Hermione, you and Ron didn't -,"

Suddenly, Ron emerged from behind the bed, grinning and stretching. "Good morning. Happy birthday, Harry!"

"Yeah, thanks," said Harry. "Tell me, Ron, why are you so cheery?"

"Do I look cheery?" Ron asked, smiling wider. "I reckon I do feel fantastic."

"What gives?" moaned Harry. "Why am I the only one with a hangover on my own bloody birthday?"

* * *

They wandered down for a late breakfast, and were surprised to find not only Arthur, Molly, and Ginny waiting for them, but also Fred and George (wearing matching tee-shirts that read "Harry Birthday, Happy!"). A pile of presents rested at one end of the table.

"Took you long enough!" crowed Fred. "Happy birthday, Harry." Ginny, who looked vastly more awake than she had yesterday, surprised him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and for a moment, he forgot all about his headache.

Five minutes later, they were all settled at the table while Mr. Weasley prepared a birthday fry-up. "Sixteen was a great year," George was saying. "Ah yes, I remember it well."

"I believe that was the year we bet on Ireland and Krum at the World Cup, but that wanker Ludo Bagman -,"

"Language, Fred," warned Molly.

"Sorry, Mum," said Fred, "But he really was a wanker. He paid us in bloody leprechaun gold! Anyway, Krum really came through for us," he added with a sly look at Ron.

Fred and George never thought they'd see the day when a mention of Viktor Krum would fail to get a rise out of their younger brother, but Ron simply smiled.

"Right good Quidditch player, Krum is," he said.

* * *

Before long, the boys were engrossed in a rousing conversation about Quidditch, and though Ginny loved Quidditch dearly, there was something even more intriguing she wanted to discuss. She kicked Hermione under the table, just hard enough to get her attention.

She raised one eyebrow. "And where were you last night?" she asked, without saying a word or even moving her lips.

Hermione blushed deeply and smiled.

Ginny's eyes widened. Slowly, she shifted them towards Ron, and back again towards Hermione.

Hermione nodded slightly.

"Wow," mouthed Ginny, grinning.

Hermione quickly stuffed her mouth full of eggs, and pointedly resisted eye contact with Ginny for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Thankfully, Harry's headache subsided once he'd managed to get some food down, and he spent the rest of the meal chatting with the twins, though truthfully his mind was elsewhere. For one thing, he was outrageously curious about what was going on between Ron and Hermione. Hermione staying up late to discuss "the finer points of Quidditch"? Not bloody likely. And not only were they both being exceptionally quiet this morning, but he'd caught them sneaking glances at each other all throughout the meal. Harry looked at Ginny and wondered what she had thought, waking up this morning and discovering Hermione's empty bed, still neatly made from the previous morning.

Ginny caught him staring and flashed him a mischievous smile, making him blush. She looked truly lovely this morning, with her hair tumbling loose past her shoulders. Unconsciously, he touched the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him, and felt a sweet shiver of excitement. He wondered if any of the presents on the table were from her.

* * *

"You'll be opening ours first," said George, after Mrs. Weasley had cleared the table with a flick of her wand. Fred slid a box in front of Harry that was so tiny, Harry couldn't imagine what it could be besides jewelry – which would be a rather intimate present, coming from the twins.

"Go on, Harry, open it," urged Fred. Harry unwrapped it neatly and slowly lifted the lid off the tiny black box that was inside.

"Wow…um…great, guys. A wee elephant." Harry was thoroughly confused. "I reckon I do like elephants."

The twins rolled their eyes. "Harry," said Fred, "You have to put it in your ear."

Harry studied the small metal elephant, no bigger than a knut. "In my ear?" he asked suspiciously. "Which ear?"

"Either one!" George said impatiently. "Come on now, Harry, we don't have all day."

Harry looked from one twin's grinning face to the other's. If this ear elephant was dangerous, they wouldn't give it to him in front of their mother, would they? Hoping he was right, Harry took a deep breath and positioned the small piece of metal awkwardly in his right ear. The twins' smiles widened expectantly.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm hearing a Quidditch game – the Montrose Magpies. Can you hear that, Ron?"

"Can't hear a thing," said Ron, looking baffled.

"Of course you can't," said Fred proudly. "It's one of our newest inventions – doesn't even have a name yet. You just stick it in your ear, and it's tuned into every Quidditch game in Europe. You can program it in advance to play your favorite teams."

"Perfect for boring classes," George added.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Harry and Ron simultaneously.

"Are you out of your minds?" Hermione asked, horrified. "They've got their NEWTs to worry about! They can't be listening to Quidditch in class!"

"But Hermione," Ron said with a suspiciously sweet smile. "I thought you _loooooved_ Quidditch." Hermione blushed and looked down at the table with an expression none of them could decipher.

"Well, I'm sure they know better than to use the little elephant in class, right boys?" said Mrs. Weasley, without missing a beat.

"Right," they chorused, exchanging guilty smiles. It wasn't as if they were planning on bringing it to their important classes, anyway.

Fred winked at Harry. "So you like?" he asked, smiling smugly.

"Yes, thank you!" Harry smiled back.

"Out of curiosity," interjected Ginny. "Why an elephant?"

"Easy," said George. "Didn't mum always tell you never to stick anything smaller than an elephant inside your ear?"

* * *

This is what I call a birthday, thought Harry, smiling to himself as he opened the rest of his presents. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley has bought him a pair of green pajamas, identical to Ron's maroon pair, apart from the color. "Great," Ron had said, rolling his eyes. "We'll look like twins. The other guys will be so impressed."

"What've you got against twins?" George had replied.

Hermione had managed to find a book on Hogwarts Quidditch legends that mentioned Harry's dad. Ron had bought him a poster of a hippogriff that looked remarkably like Buckbeak, with wings that flapped and flashing eyes. Ginny had saved her present for last. "Here," she said, handing him a box not much bigger than the one from Fred and George.

Harry opened it slowly, feeling excited and inexplicably nervous. He removed a layer of tissue paper from the box, revealing a tiny red and gold figurine.

"A phoenix!" said Hermione. "How lovely."

Harry gently lifted it to eye level and examined it closely. "It looks just like Fawkes," he marveled. It was so detailed and lifelike, he half expected it to jump out of his hands.

"Do you like it?" Ginny asked uncertainly.

"Yes!" he said. He looked at her and smiled. Though everyone else surely believed the gift to be a reference to the Order of the Phoenix, Harry knew Ginny had meant it as a reminder of how Fawkes had saved them his second year, in the Chamber of Secrets.

A very personal gift, he realized with a thrill. But then, Dean Thomas had just celebrated a birthday in June. He wondered what Ginny had gotten for him.

* * *

In honor of Harry's birthday, the Weasley kids and Hermione took another day off from cleaning and wedding preparations. Thus, the early afternoon was declared by Fred and George to be "prime Quidditch time", and the six of them headed out back with brooms and balls.

Hermione sighed. "Do I really have to play again? I'm rubbish at Quidditch."

"Of course you have to," said Fred. "You wouldn't be able to bear the guilt of making the teams uneven."

"Strangely enough, I do believe I could bear it," replied Hermione, but nevertheless she remained outside, gazing at the sky with obvious reluctance.

"Actually," said Ron a moment later, "I'm feeling a bit worn out myself. You four play, and I'm sure Hermione and I will find some way to entertain ourselves inside."

Fred grinned. "Oh, I'm sure you two will manage, won't you?" Both Ron and Hermione turned beet red. "Well don't let us keep you. Run along!"

* * *

"Back so soon?" asked Mr. Weasley, looking up from a copy of the Daily Prophet as Ron and Hermione walked past the table.

"We…er…left something upstairs, Dad," Ron called over his shoulder. Hermione followed him up the stairs and into the room he shared with Harry, shutting the door behind her.

"Not so squeamish about the door anymore, are you?"

"Nope," said Hermione, smiling. "It's funny, but after I talked to you about it, I really felt much better. I guess I just needed to get it off my chest."

"I guess so," said Ron, plopping down on his bed. "Erm… speaking of getting things off your chest…"

Hermione sat down beside him. "Right. We should talk."

Ron blushed. "Well, actually," he said, "I meant your shirt. I was wondering if maybe you could…erm…get your shirt… off your chest."

Hermione burst out laughing. "You want me to take off my shirt?"

Ron nodded solemnly.

"Wow, Ron," she said, laughing harder. "Right to the point. I'm guessing that means you _don't_ regret what happened last night."

Ron's eyes widened. "I don't… do you?"

Hermione reached over and gently turned his face toward hers. She kissed him deeply, cupping his cheeks in both hands. "Nope, no regrets," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Wow," Ron breathed, opening his eyes slowly. "I… erm…think I could get used to that."

"Hermione smiled warmly. "I think I could, too." They sat there grinning at each other for a moment. Hermione took both of Ron's hands in her own.

"You know, I've wanted this since we were thirteen," Hermione said softly.

"But I was such a prat then!"

"Oh, make no mistake, you still are one," Hermione assured him. "But I've always had very low standards."

"Why, thank you," Ron said, kissing her on the nose. "That makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside."

"That's what I'm going for," said Hermione, leaning in to kiss him again.

They managed to entertain each other quite successfully for hours.

* * *

By the end of a Quidditch-filled afternoon, Ginny and George had emerged victorious. "I hate to have pummeled you on your birthday, mate," George said, looking as if he didn't hate it one bit. "But I guess you're just no match for the G-team!"

"Oh, there they go again with the sassy nickname," moaned Fred. "Remind me never to let them play on the same team again."

"Don't hate us because of our name," George protested. "Hate us because we DOMINATE!" He and Ginny absorbed themselves in a bizarre sort of victory dance, which involved much hooting, hollering, shimmying, and hip bumping.

"C'mon, Harry, we don't have to put up with this rubbish," said Fred. "We'd have won anyway if we were playing properly, with a snitch." With one last disdainful sniff at George and Ginny, they retreated.

* * *

When Harry returned to his room, he wasn't entirely shocked to hear quiet music coming through the closed door, punctuated by the occasional soft giggle. He briefly considered knocking, but in the end, he decided to let them be. If Ron and Hermione had finally gotten around to snogging, he wasn't going to be the one to interfere.

He wandered back down the hallway, running his hand along velvety curtains and nodding hello to the friendlier portraits as he passed. "This place…" he thought. "I know you hated it, Sirius, but it reminds me of you all the same." It was easy to imagine his godfather walking down the hallways on lonely nights, just as Harry was doing now.

He hated to think of Sirius as lonely. "I should have figured out a way to spend more time with him," he thought, a lump beginning to form in his throat. "Or maybe I just shouldn't have gotten him killed." He closed his eyes quickly, willing the thought away.

Of course, he came across the tapestry. His eyes were drawn directly to the spot where Sirius' name would have been, had his mother deemed him worthy of the Black family name. Harry felt thankful that Sirius had been excluded – he wasn't sure he could bear the finality of seeing Sirius' name next to his brother Regulus', listed as dead.

Absorbed as he was, Harry didn't hear the soft footsteps coming towards him. "Harry?" said a voice. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped.

"Ginny! You surprised me."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you -,"

"No, I know." Harry attempted a lighthearted smile. "I guess I was just…"

"Just looking at that awful tapestry," Ginny said, shaking her head. "And feeling glum and guilty about Sirius, no doubt. You know he wouldn't want that, Harry, especially not on your birthday."

"I know," he sighed. "I've been trying not to think of it all, but then there it is staring you in the face."

Ginny nodded. "I think I know what you mean," she murmured, remembering that awful, sleepless night before Harry arrived.

Both were silent for a moment.

"Well," said Harry, smiling suddenly. "At least Ron and Hermione seem to be having a good day."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Oh! Oh, wow, are they – wait, you didn't walk in on anything, did you?"

Harry laughed. "No, I just kind of heard it through the door…"

"Still, how traumatic!" she moaned. "I mean, clearly it was bound to happen, but the thought of Ron kissing…" she trailed off, looking horrified.

"Traumatic for you," Harry said. "Just plain weird for me. Yeah, sure, I was urging Ron on all summer by owl post, but… I dunno… I reckon things will be a bit different with the three of us from now on."

"Oh, Harry, I hadn't thought of that," Ginny said sympathetically. "You poor thing – promise me you'll come find me whenever you need a refuge."

Harry smiled. "Definitely," he said.

"Good," Ginny replied. "Well, you stay cheery, okay? No more looking at that tapestry, especially not on your birthday." She gave him a stern look and set of towards her room.

Harry watched her go, smiling to himself. Then, suddenly, he remembered –

"Wait!" he called after her, running to catch up. She turned and looked at him quizzically.

"I think I need a refuge!"

Fin- Part 4

* * *

Author's note: Now seriously, don't go sticking teeny things in your ears. The elephant rule applies. My dad got the end of a Q-tip jammed down there once, and it wasn't pretty.

Oh, and happy almost half-birthday, Harry!


	5. Part 5

**The Finer Points** By Scabbers 

This is it – the fifth and final segment. Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed. I appreciate your support, and your patience. Please enjoy!

In response to the question posed by HugglesAll, Ron and Hermione have not ventured beyond, er, making out (for lack of a better phrase). I really can't see them moving any faster than that. :)

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They own me._

* * *

Part 5:

As Bill and Fleur's wedding drew nearer, Mrs. Weasley became increasingly irritable, and everyone (including her husband) went out of their way both to obey and avoid her. Once Harry had settled in, he, too, was put to work, cleaning the ballroom, putting up fairy lights, and feeding the owls that arrived by the dozens, bearing responses to the invitations. Mrs. Weasley had even given him and Hermione the special task of selecting their favorite Muggle songs to be played at the reception.

The twins had stayed on since Harry's birthday, having taken over a dilapidated room off one of the many winding hallways on the second floor. Harry was surprised to discover how helpful they turned out to be with the preparations, as they were old enough to use magic where it was needed. Nevertheless, they couldn't seem to resist tormenting their younger brother, who knew better than to take their complaints to their frazzled mother. It seemed that everywhere Harry looked, there was another strategically placed rubber spider, just waiting to be stumbled upon. Ron was looking jumpier every day.

* * *

Three days before the wedding, Fleur sent along an owl, asking if Ginny would like to be one of her bridesmaids.

"She's choosing _now_?" asked Ginny, surprised. "Isn't it a bit late for that?"

"Maybe someone's dropped out," suggested George.

"You know, I reckon that's exactly what's happened," Ginny said with a laugh. "I must be the back-up bridesmaid."

"Lucky you," said Ron.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from Fleur's letter. "Well, I think it's perfectly wonderful. Now you can be in the ceremony with Harry and your brothers, dear!"

Ginny shrugged. "I mean, it doesn't really matter to me all that much ,"

"Nonsense, dear!" said Molly. "Bill will be absolutely thrilled. "We'll let them know right away."

"I guess that's that," Ginny said, smiling weakly.

* * *

A closer look at the letter yielded information Ginny found to be particularly disconcerting. "Erm, when she says the bridesmaids are wearing bright pink," Ginny asked, a note of panic creeping into her voice. "Does that mean me?"

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "It certainly does mean you. I suppose we'll have to buy you new dress robes…

"Oh well," said Ginny brightly. "I guess we don't have the time or money for that, do we? Maybe Fleur has a friend she could put in my place."

Mrs. Weasley smiled tightly. "We'll manage, dear. I suppose I could take you this afternoon, and ,"

"But Mum!"

"No buts, Ginny. It's sweet of you to be concerned, but it's not every day your brother gets married."

"There are six of them, Mum. It will be practically every day."

"Actually," interjected Hermione. "Ginny has a point. You might consider getting her a set of Flexi-robes, so she can change the color every time one of the boys gets married." She blushed, suddenly, and looked pointedly away from Ron.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "That's a lovely thought, dear, but I'm afraid we can't afford it right now."

"Oh," Hermione said, looking embarrassed.

The twins exchanged a glance and a nod. "Actually," said George, "_We_ can afford it."

"Business is booming," added Fred, with a sly grin. The twins watched with delight as their mother visibly struggled between gratitude and disapproval.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," she said finally.

"You're not," said George. "We're offering. In fact, we're insisting."

"That's quite all right," Ginny said suddenly. "I really don't mind not being a bridesmaid. Really, it's okay."

"But Ginny," Fred was the picture of innocence. "Think of how great it will look in the photos. All of us Weasley siblings together, dressed to the nines…" He glanced sideways at his mother, who looked misty at the mere mention of wedding photos, and back at George who gave him the thumbs up. Ginny's nostrils flared as she looked back and forth from one twin to the other.

Mrs. Weasley smiled wetly. "You boys… so thoughtful…so mature…" She swept her twins into a big, grateful hug.

"It's nothing really, Mum," George said sweetly. "In fact, why don't you pick out something nice for yourself while you're there."

* * *

"Okay, what are you two trying to pull?" hissed Ginny, after Mrs. Weasley had apparated to a meeting with the caterer.

"Whatever do you mean, Ginny?" asked Fred, eyes wide. "We just wanted you to have your pretty dress robes for the wedding."

Ginny stared him down.

"Well, if you must know," he said finally, "We thought it prudent to show Mum just what sorts of lovely things can be bought with Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Galleons."

"Wonderful," Ginny said with a frustrated sigh. "I was hoping to get out of being a bridesmaid, you know."

"Yeah, we picked up on that," said George. "What's the problem? You seemed okay with it before."

"That was before I knew I'd have to wear bright pink."

"And what's wrong with pink?" asked Fred, who happened to be wearing a bright pink shirt. "Redheads look great in pink."

"No," said Ginny. "Redheads look rubbish in pink. Especially you, Fred." Ron and George snickered.

"Anyway," Ginny moaned. "Now I'll be stuck looking like _that_ next to all of Fleur's veela cousins!"

"That's right!" Fred said, smiling broadly. "Fleur's part veela! I reckon the bridesmaids will be fit as hell – and as groomsmen, _we, _my ginger- and black-haired brothers, are their escorts!" He put his arms around Ron's and Harry's shoulders and sighed dreamily. It was difficult to tell who looked more disgruntled – Ginny or Hermione.

* * *

Ginny managed to convince Hermione to accompany her to town that afternoon, so the boys were left to finish up the day's work on their own. Mrs. Weasley led the way, navigating first through the floo network, and then through the summer crowds at Diagon Alley. They ended up in a small boutique neither Ginny nor Hermione had ever seen before, much less been inside.

"May I help you?" asked the shopkeeper, a round-faced woman in her forties or fifties wearing burnt orange dress robes.

"Why yes, in fact," replied Mrs. Weasley. "I was looking to buy a set of formal Flexi-robes for my daughter, if you carry them. My son's getting married, you see, and Ginny here's one of the bridesmaids." She smiled proudly.

"How lovely!" exclaimed the shopkeeper. She turned to Hermione, smiling kindly. "Ginny, dear – you must be so excited to be a bridesmaid in your brother's wedding!"

"Oh – well, actually, she's Ginny," said Hermione politely. "I'm her friend Hermione." She and Ginny exchanged a smile.

"I apologize!" said the shopkeeper. "Well, Ginny, if you'll come on back, we'll get you fitted for your new dress robes." She turned to Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. "Please feel free to look around, ladies, and let me know if you can't find your size." Smiling, she whisked Ginny to the back of the store.

Mrs. Weasley thumbed through the racks, occasionally selecting something to bring to the fitting room. Hermione wandered through and around the rows of dress robes, letting her hands brush across the many different textures of fabric. These robes put her trusty periwinkle set to shame, she realized. She wondered if she shouldn't consider buying something new for herself.

She was considering trying on a sophisticated looking set in a rich shade of maroon, when a flash of teal green behind it caught her eye. She pushed the maroon robe aside, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

The teal robes were made of a rich, heavy fabric Hermione couldn't identify, with intricate gold stitching all throughout. The collar, sleeves, and waist were lined gold silk. It was the most beautiful article of clothing Hermione had ever seen. Slowly, she lifted it off the shelf and checked the price tag. It wasn't cheap, by any means, but she had three birthdays worth of money converted into Galleons, waiting to be spent.

"Oh, Hermione, how beautiful!"

Hermione turned around to find Ginny standing behind her in a pair of perfect-fitting black dress robes that showed off the creamy white skin around her collarbone.

"Are those your Flexi-robes, Ginny? They're lovely."

"Thanks," Ginny said. "Believe me, they're not so lovely in bright pink, but they'll do. Now, tell me, where did you find that impossibly gorgeous set of robes, and why on earth haven't you tried them on yet?"

Hermione blushed. "I don't know, Ginny. I don't really need new dress robes right now. I've still got my periwinkle ones… I really shouldn't…"

"Oh, you _definitely_ should," said Ginny with a smile. "Come on, I know where the fitting rooms are."

Just as Hermione entered the fitting room on the right, Mrs. Weasley emerged from the one on the left, carrying a deep violet robe by the hanger. "There you are, Ginny," she said. "Tell me what you think of this color. Too bright?"

"I think it's lovely, Mum."

"Really? Be honest, dear , I'd rather hear it from you than – oh Hermione!"

Hermione blushed. "Do you like them?" She had quickly slipped the teal robes over her jeans, but it was obvious that they fit her perfectly. The teal color made her skin glow, and the golden detailing brought out the golden highlights in her hair.

"Do I like them?" breathed Ginny. "Hermione, look at yourself! You're absolutely stunning."

Hermione shyly studied her reflection, cocking her head to one side. Was she really stunning? She didn't think so. Certainly, the robes suited her, but a pair of robes couldn't make a person beautiful. Her face was as plain as ever, she assessed, and her hair was like a rat's nest.

As if she could read her mind, Mrs. Weasley came up behind Hermione and gently gathered her hair back, holding it off her face. "There," she said. "Lovely."

Hermione's eyes widened. Maybe she did look stunning. Was that really all it took – a gorgeous dress and someone pulling her hair back?

"Exquisite," said the mirror.

"Thank you," Hermione said, though it felt odd to thank her own reflection. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. "So… I should buy this, you think?"

"Merlin's beard, yes!" said Ginny.

Hermione smiled. "Okay, then." She slipped back into the dressing room to de-robe, despite the fact that she was wearing her clothes underneath.

"You too, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Right," said Ginny, looking down. She had forgotten she was still wearing the Flexi-robes.

"Hey, Hermione," Ginny whispered a moment later from the dressing room. The wall dividing the two little rooms was so thin, it sounded to Hermione as if she was speaking directly in her ear.

"Yes?"

"Ron's going to pee his pants when he sees you, you know that, right?"

Hermione grinned to herself. "How romantic," she said.

* * *

The evening before the wedding, Hermione had a bit of time to herself, as Harry and the Weasleys had all gone to rehearse for the ceremony. "Good," she told herself sternly. "Now you have time to get ahead on reading for next term." By sunset, she was curled up in bed with Crookshanks and a pile of textbooks, determined to get through at least two or three before Ginny returned.

But, as it turned out, for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger couldn't focus on reading. Her mind kept wandering – pages would go by, and she'd suddenly realize she hadn't absorbed a word of it. Just getting through the first chapter of her History of Magic reading was, to use her parents' favorite expression, like pulling teeth. She wondered if this was what it was like being Ron.

Ron was the problem, really. No matter how hard she tried to focus on the Great Mermaid Migration of 1507, her mind kept coming back to his twinkling blue eyes.

She had to admit she was excited for him to see her in her new dress robes. It wasn't that he didn't seem to like her in Muggle tee-shirts and jeans. At least, he liked her well enough to kiss her madly at every opportunity (and beg for her to remove said tee-shirts). But still, his reaction to her outfit the one time he'd ever seen her dressed up, though frustrating, had been delicious. She wondered if she'd manage to surprise him again tomorrow in the teal.

"This is ridiculous," she told herself. "You're not the one getting married tomorrow. You aren't even in the wedding. You have no right to be so excited."

Ron was in the wedding, though. She couldn't wait to see how he looked in his new dress robes, jet black like all the groomsmen. Weasleys always looked fit in black.

"Enough!" She slammed her book shut, making Crookshanks jump. Flopping backwards on her bed with a groan, she cursed Ron for being so adorably distracting.

* * *

Ginny felt a rush of excitement from the moment she woke up on the morning of her brother's wedding. Even the prospect of parading down the aisle in monstrously bright pink couldn't sour her mood. Bill was getting married! Ginny was going to have a sister-in-law, and maybe even nieces and nephews, before long. Bill would make a wonderful father, she reckoned. She remembered how she used to curl up in Bill's lap when he'd return home from Hogwarts on breaks, and make him read her storybooks until she fell asleep.

The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 2:00, but Ginny and the other bridesmaids were expected to report to Fleur's bedchamber by noon, so they could help her get ready. Ginny had to admit she was less than excited about being locked in a room for two hours with half a dozen gorgeous witches chattering in French. Nevertheless, the ceremony itself was something to look forward to. In the past few days, her dread of being a bridesmaid had caused her to overlook one fabulous detail, which she's only just realized last night during the rehearsal.

With just one exception, the groomsmen were all her brothers. Thus, her escort for the ceremony was, quite naturally, Harry Potter. Ginny would be walking down the aisle arm in arm with Harry. Every time she thought of it, her whole body tingled with excitement.

* * *

At half past one, dozens of guests in brightly colored robes began filing into the rows of seats that Mr. Weasley and the children had set up in the room directly off the ballroom. Murmuring voices conversed gaily in English and French, and the air carried the sweet scent of hundreds of flowers. Hermione, who was sitting in the second row between Mrs. Weasley and Hagrid, craned her neck to study the faces of the witches and wizards who continued to stream in. She had never seen so many redheads in her life.

Across the aisle to her left, a throng of Bill's old school-mates and a few ginger-haired Weasley cousins were crowded around two of Fleur's veela relatives, stumbling over each other to regale the girls with spectacularly fabricated tales of personal success. Two rows back sat Professor Flitwick, who waved excitedly when she caught his eye.

A sudden hush swept over the crowd, and Hermione saw that it was finally 2:00. A quartet of somber looking ghosts began to play something slow and sweet. Then, as if out of nowhere, Dumbledore appeared at the front of the room, wearing sparkling white dress robes. Hermione must have looked surprised, because Hagrid leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I take it yeh didn't know it'd be Dumbledore up there doin' the ceremony, of course. He's the best there is, I tell yeh. Reckon he'll be the one teh marry Ron and yerself one day." Hagrid winked; Hermione's face turned scarlet.

Dumbledore slowly raised both arms, and the guests craned their necks backwards to see Bill, wide-eyed in black robes, making his way forward on a magic carpet. "Oh, praise Merlin, he's taken out that dreadful fang," Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley mutter as Bill floated past.

The quartet picked up the tempo, slightly, as pairs of black-robed groomsmen and bridesmaids in bright pink followed Bill down the aisle. Charlie, the best man, was first, gallantly escorting the maid of honor, Fleur's ten-year-old sister Gabrielle. The five other Weasley boys followed in order of age, each one linking arms with one of Fleur's cousins or schoolmates. Ron, to Hermione's relief, was escorting a cousin who hardly looked older than Gabrielle; he winked at Hermione as he walked by.

Bringing up the rear were Harry and Ginny, who looked to Hermione as if they were sharing a brilliant inside joke, but Hermione didn't think anyone who didn't know them well would notice. A tiny blond haired girl with enough veela blood to attract attention at the tender age of five trailed behind, sending fairies out into the rows of guests. When everyone reached the front, the groomsmen stood to the left, and the bridesmaids to the right. The fairy girl stood next to Dumbledore, looking up at him curiously.

The music came to a crescendo, and Fleur began her slow procession down the aisle, alongside a distinguished looking silver-haired man that could only be her father. Half of the guests gasped as she passed; the other half simply gaped in awe. If Fleur had been beautiful in normal clothes, she was positively majestic in white wedding robes. A garland of white flowers rested upon her silvery blond hair, and her eyes glowed turquoise. Bill looked as if he was ready to burst.

When they arrived at the front, Fleur's father kissed her on the cheek and took his seat in the front. Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "We are gathered here today to join these two, William Weasley and Fleur Delacour, in the bonds of holy matrimony." Then, to Hermione's surprise, he reached his hands out to Bill and Fleur; they each removed something from small velvet pouches attached to their robes and placed it in his open palm.

"What's that?" Hermione whispered to Hagrid.

"Locks eh hair," Hagrid replied. "Now watch this."

Dumbledore tossed up the two locks of hair and transfigured them in the air, without the aid of a wand. A moment later, a sparkling gold ring had replaced Bill's circle of hair, and Fleur's had turned to silver. With the slightest bow of his head, he handed each ring to its owner.

Bill took a deep breath. "I, Bill Weasley, take you, Fleur Delacour to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer –," he smiled, "For poorer, come creatures and curses, to love and to cherish, till death do us part." His voice was husky – he was getting quite choked up. Ginny, Hermione noticed, had tears streaming down her cheeks. "With this ring, I thee wed." Molly Weasley sniffed loudly as he slid the gold ring onto Fleur's slender finger.

Fleur was beaming. "I, Fleur Delacour, take you, Bill Weasley, to be my wedded huzzband, to have and to hold, from zis day forward, for bettair or for worse, for richair, for poorair, come harpies and hexes, to love and to cherish, till death do us part." She slid the silver ring on his finger. "With zis ring, I zee wed." A collective dreamy sigh erupted from Fleur's Beauxbatons friends in the middle rows.

Dumbledore raised his hands skyward. "By Merlin's decree, let it be so. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss each other senseless."

The room exploded into applause.

* * *

After a few last remarks from Dumbledore, the newly married couple, grinning, scampered back down the aisle and into the ballroom, followed by the wedding party. The guests immediately poured in after them, descending upon Bill and Fleur en masse to gush their congratulations. On a platform stage in the back, Celestina Warbeck warmed up with an enchanted piano.

Ginny's immediate plan was to find Charlie or her mum, or just about anyone, really, who might be willing to do the quick spell to charm her robes to black – but, as sod's law would have it, everyone but the twins seemed quite occupied. "Merlin's beard," she muttered, frustrated.

"Did you say something, Ginny, love?" Fred asked in a treacherously sweet voice.

She looked from one twin to the other, down at her garish pink robes, and back up again. The twins were of age, and she was sure they were carrying wands – everyone did these days, just in case – but was it worth the risk? Surely, Fred and George would leave her naked as a phoenix on burning day before actually doing her a favor.

But then – the twins had been rather decent to her lately, particularly George. Perhaps they'd be kind. It was Bill's wedding, after all.

One more glimpse down at that unbearable shade of pink made the decision for her. "I've got a bit of a favor," she said, hoping she wouldn't regret it. "Can you charm my robes to black? Nothing funny, okay? Plain black." She regarded them with obvious distrust.

Fred smiled kindly. "Well, Ginny, I wouldn't do this for just anyone, but since you're my favorite sister…" A wave of his wand later, Ginny was horrified to find that her robes were now bright orange.

"Sorry, Gin," George said regretfully, "But black's just so _boring_." Ginny glared at them as they retreated, laughing.

"Bugger," she sighed. "I look just like a Chudley Cannon." As if to prove her point, Ron caught her eye from across the room, gave her the thumbs up, and mouthed, "Go Cannons!"

Ginny was occupied with pondering what, exactly, constituted an emergency regarding underage magic in the summer when Dumbledore swept by her, touching her robes lightly with his fingertips, and continued past her into the ballroom. Ginny looked down at her robes and saw that they were no longer orange, though they weren't black either. They were a dazzling shade of silvery blue.

"This'll do," she murmured, smiling. Dumbledore looked back over his shoulder at her and winked.

* * *

A while later, Celestina Warbeck was singing her heart out, and the dance floor was filled with couples swaying in time. Bill and Fleur were in the center of it all, looking as if they didn't even notice the hundreds of guests who had shown up in their honor. Mrs. Weasley, face flushed from the wine, had her head on her husband's shoulder. Even George was gaily spinning Fleur's sister and chattering to her over the music. "Yeah, we could use you on the G-team," he said, giving her hair a brotherly tug. Gabrielle beamed.

Ron was surprised to find that he actually wanted to dance, provided it was with Hermione. Only problem was, in the sea of guests that had streamed in behind him, he hadn't caught a glimpse of her. He craned his neck around to see if she was in the crowd by the punch bowl, or maybe chatting with McGonagall beneath the fairy lights in the entrance way, but she didn't seem to be anywhere. Momentarily, he wondered if she hadn't slipped off to go read next term's textbooks.

Then, he spotted her near the platform stage, scanning the room with a determined look on her face – she was looking for him, too. Ron stared at her, his heart beating fast. Her hair, still curly but somehow tamer than usual, was clipped back a bit at the sides with gold barrettes, and she was wearing new robes in a brilliant shade of teal. She looked _beautiful_ – too beautiful. "What on earth does she see in me?" he thought nervously.

Hermione felt him staring – she caught his eye suddenly and grinned. He blushed deeply, and smiled back. They navigated their way through the crowd towards each other. "Finally!" she sighed, taking both his hands. "Thought I'd never find you. All those redheads."

"Yes, but just think," said Ron. "It'll only be a problem at Weasley family functions. The rest of the time, spotting me in a crowd's a no-brainer." He leaned down and softly kissed her forehead. "You look _so_ beautiful, by the way."

Hermione blushed, surprised. It was the first time he had ever straight up called her beautiful – and the first time he'd even sort of kissed her in public. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of one of the twins smirking.

A fast song ended, and a slower one began. "Come on, let's dance," said Hermione, guiding Ron's hands to her waist. "I actually know this song."

"Really? I've never heard it," said Ron.

"That's because it's a Muggle song," she replied. "I picked it out, actually." She rested her chin on his shoulder and sang along softly with Celestina Warbeck. "_My lonely days are over, and life is like a song…"_

"A Muggle song, huh? So it's by, what's her name, Britty Smears?"

Hermione laughed. "Hardly! Etta James," she said. "And it's Britney Spears, for the record, not Britty Smears."

"Same difference," said Ron shrugging.

"Oh, _that_ won't do," said Hermione, stopping suddenly. She looked Ron squarely in the eye. "You'll be calling Britney by her proper name from now on, thank you."

"And if I don't?" Ron asked, eyes twinkling.

"Well," said Hermione, sighing regretfully. "Looks like I'll have to do this." And she kissed him, not quite as thoroughly as she might have done in private, but he got the message all the same.

* * *

Ginny, for her part, was taking a breather in one of the chairs by the entrance. She'd just gotten through a fast dance with a friend of Bill's named Paul, and was recovering with a glass of punch.

Leaning back into the velvety cushion, she surveyed her surroundings with pleasure and pride. Having had only a few weeks to work with, they had certainly brought everything together marvelously. The ballroom glowed with white candles and fairy lights, and there were large bouquets of white flowers on every surface. Mrs. Weasley had even enchanted the floor to look like water, and Ginny found herself fixated on the ripples that radiated outward from the hundreds of dancing feet.

For Ginny, though, the very best part was Bill – she had never seen him so happy. Dancing in slow circles to Celestina Warbeck's rendition of a Muggle song, he and Fleur looked like an old-fashioned couple from an antique photograph – except for the bit of diamond sparkling in Bill's right earlobe. Ginny smiled, feeling the fang earring that was hidden under her own thick curtain of hair. She had traded with Bill at the very last minute, and she and Harry had shared a quiet laugh over it all the way down the aisle.

For the tenth or eleventh time that day, she blushed at the thought of walking down the aisle with Harry.

What would her own wedding be like, she wondered. She knew she wanted to be married someday, but she couldn't fathom the reality of it, not now. She wondered what Fleur had felt walking down the aisle, and what Bill had felt, watching her come towards him. What sort of magic was in those rings they had exchanged? Ginny sighed. What could possibly be more romantic?

"What are you doing here all by yourself, Ginny?"

Ginny looked up, cheeks quite flushed. "Oh, hi Harry. Just resting my feet. Care to join me?"

"Sure, thanks." He sat down next to her and stretched his legs out. Hagrid waltzed past them with Madame Maxine and winked. Ron and Hermione were dancing nearby as well, grinning madly at each other, but they didn't seem to notice Harry and Ginny at all. "It's been an interesting summer," Harry murmured, looking at them.

Ginny chucked. "Too right," she replied.

They watched the dozens of dancing couples, periodically stealing sideways glances at each other, but not talking. Celestina Warbeck finished her Muggle tune and started singing a slow song Ginny knew her parents loved. She'd bed ten galleons her mum had requested it.

Harry took a deep breath. "Listen, do you want to dance?" He looked at her, nervously. "I mean, it's all right if you don't, of course, I understand – ."

"Okay," said Ginny, smiling. "Yeah, definitely."

They walked over to the dance floor, holding hands. Ginny's heart pounded as he gently put his hands on her waist. She looked up at him – he was looking down at her, smiling quite tenderly.

Blushing, she nestled in a bit closer. It had, indeed, been an interesting summer, she thought. And there were still two weeks left until school started up again.

Two more weeks. She rested her head on Harry's shoulder, smiling to herself. It seemed like absolutely forever, and it was only the beginning.

* * *

Fin.

Author's note: And so, we leave them. We can trust that they'll find ways to entertain each other til school starts.

I truly hope you liked this – it was exceptionally fun to write. It kept me sane all winter.

The Muggle song is, of course, "At Last", and I highly recommend Eva Cassidy's version. Go download it, not that I condone illegal file sharing (or underage drinking, or the sticking of small objects in ears).

Til next time,

Scabbers


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